CHAPTER 41 #3
His hands don’t stop, nor does his expression change. He seems determined to ignore me.
“Are you going to teach me or not?” I ask with mock annoyance.
“Suit yourself,” he replies without even looking my way.
Fine!
I look down at my robe before glancing at the spinning clay.
Knowing that the satin robe would soon be smeared with clay, I untie the sash around my waist. The smooth fabric falls open, and I slip it off my shoulders and toss it over a nearby chair, leaving me in nothing but my short, sleeveless nightdress. Only then do I look back at Raghav.
The pottery wheel continues to spin, but his hands are no longer moving. For the first time since I entered the room, all of his attention is finally on me.
RAGHAV
As the satin robe slips off her shoulders, every coherent thought inside my head comes to an abrupt halt. I simply stare at my wife.
Siya has never been a shy woman. Confidence has always been stitched into her personality as naturally as breathing.
She has never hidden behind hesitation or false modesty.
But still, I never imagined she would stand before me like this, wearing nothing but that short nightdress, completely unaware of the effect she’s having on me.
The wheel keeps spinning beneath my hands, and within seconds, the perfectly rising vase crumples into a misshapen lump. But I barely notice.
Then, Siya walks over and lowers herself onto my stool, right between me and the pottery wheel. I instinctively shift back, making just enough room for her. The movement causes the hem of her nightdress to ride a little higher over her thighs, and I instantly drag my gaze away.
F*ck! I need to focus.
“You’d better teach me properly,” she says playfully, glancing over her shoulder at me. “Because I only learn from perfectionists.”
She’s deliberately provoking me. I let out a slow breath before dipping both my hands into the bowl of clean water beside the wheel. Siya looks confused as I wash away every trace of wet clay clinging to my fingers.
“Why are you cleaning up?” she asks, frowning. “Aren’t we supposed to get dirty by the end of this?”
F*ck! She really needs to think before she speaks. Or maybe I need to stop finding double meanings in everything she says. Considering the way she’s been looking at me lately... that second possibility seems far more likely.
I don’t respond. I just dry my hands before reaching for the hair scrunchie around her wrist. Sliding it off, I gather her soft hair together and tie it into a neat ponytail. I want to keep her hair out of the way while I teach her, or maybe I just needed an excuse to touch her hair again.
When my fingers brush the back of her neck for the briefest moment, she shudders. And just like that, my self-control slips again.
Turning back to the pottery wheel, I pick up a fresh lump of clay and place it at the exact centre.
Siya returns her attention on the wheel, already excited.
But the moment I guide her hands to the clay and cover them with mine, her entire body tenses.
Goosebumps rise along her arms beneath my fingertips.
I notice this but deliberately ignore it, forcing my attention back to the wheel instead of the woman sitting impossibly close in front of me.
“Rule number one…” I begin. “Never rush. Pottery has nothing to do with strength. It begins with balance.”
Keeping my hands over hers, I guide her fingers towards the damp clay. “You can’t force it into becoming what you want.” My thumb brushes lightly over her knuckles. “You have to understand what it’s willing to become.”
Siya swallows as I gently press over the back of her hands, helping her steady the spinning clay. A few minutes later, she shifts slightly and settles into a more comfortable position. I lower my head to rest my jaw lightly against her shoulder while I continue guiding her.
“Centre it first,” I murmur. “Once it trusts your hands, everything else becomes easier. Because some things only work when you find exactly the right touch, Princess.”
Siya doesn’t answer. She simply swallows again and tilts her head a little farther to the side, silently giving me enough room to rest my chin on her shoulder. My restraint slips another inch.
I lean in just enough to guide her hands a little higher over the spinning clay. “Now keep your elbows close to your body,” I whisper, adjusting her wrists. “And relax your hands. Feel it taking shape beneath your fingers.”
Siya lets out a breath, as though she understands the double meaning behind my words.
“Am… am I applying too much pressure?” she asks innocently.
“You’re not.” A smile tugs at my lips. “Not while I’m holding your hands.”
She falls silent as I place gentle pressure over her fingers once again, our palms moving together as one. “You’re doing good, Princess. So good.”
The clay slowly begins to rise beneath our touch.
“That’s it,” I murmur, my lips almost grazing her ear. “Stop trying to control every little movement. Trust the rhythm.”
“It’s getting bigger…” she gasps in awe.
“It is…” I whisper, pressing a soft kiss just behind her ear. “Keep doing what you are, and you will be rewarded.”
I don’t know whether I’m still talking about pottery anymore. Somewhere between my hands covering hers, her perfume enveloping me, and the soft hum of the spinning wheel, the silence between us turns dangerously intimate.
As my fingers rest lightly over hers and her body leans back against mine, the art of pottery quietly fades into the background. The lesson continues, yet neither of us is truly paying attention to the clay anymore.
Almost instinctively, my lips brush the curve where her neck meets her shoulder.
“Raghav...” she whispers.
“Focus, Princess.” I smile against her skin as I slowly release the clay beneath our fingers.
Instead of guiding her hands over the spinning wheel again, I gather a fresh handful of the soft, cool clay into my palms. Slowly, I knead it between our joined hands, coating her fingers first before working it gently over the backs of her hands. The cool clay glides across her skin.
I spread another thin layer over her wrists, my thumbs slowly smoothing it upwards until it reaches her forearms. She doesn’t stop me. Almost unconsciously, she relaxes and leans back against me until she’s resting against my chest while I continue to work the cool clay over her skin.
With Siya trusting me so completely, my self-control begins to crack.
Unable to resist, I lower my head, and my lips find her shoulder.
I place a feather-light kiss there, then another along the graceful curve where it meets her neck.
Next, I kiss the corner of her jaw, her cheek, and finally her neck, all the while, continuing to spread the clay over her arms.